


To Achieve Buoyancy

by Majestrix



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1745687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majestrix/pseuds/Majestrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing logical about fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Achieve Buoyancy

"You never learned?"

"My body's physiology is considerably denser than a Human's."

"So... you haven't learned."

"It is illogical to put oneself in danger to achieve a skill one may never need."

"But... it's required; how did you graduate without learning how to swim?" Nyota’s frown borders on accusatory. 

“Must we dwell on this subject?” Spock’s tone is as close to plaintive as he allows in their semi-public location. 

Nyota glances around and sees no one is watching their conversation. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“While I admire your persistence I find it less than appealing when directed at my personal life.” Spock’s eyebrow lifts when Nyota doubles over the table in loud laughter. He attempts to keep his expression impassive but people have begun to glance over at their table and it is unacceptable. “Nyota, I implore you to suppress your emotional outburst; it is unseemly.”

Nyota sits back with tears in her eyes and she wipes them away, hands tremulous with laughter. “I am sorry, I really am; I just… Oh my goodness; no one would believe me if I told them a Vulcan pretty much told me to fuck off,” she wheezes. Nyota smiles and appears to start to reach for Spock’s hand but she folds her fingers around her napkin instead. 

“I said no such thing.” Spock’s expression is prim as he lifts his tea cup to his lips. 

“I could teach you. I _will_ teach you,” she amends.

Spock blinks. More time, socially, in the company of the alluring Nyota Uhura is something he craves and any reason logic affords to prolong his exposure is gratifying.

But this time is to be spent in a large body of water.

An unseemly amount of water.

Distantly, he hears himself agree and considers increasing his meditation.

***

It is two weeks before they have time for a lesson. Nyota arrives early to ensure their solitude and to calm the butterflies that threaten to break her apart. She fiddles with the tie of her cover up as she breathes deeply of the chlorine saturated air and wonders what in heaven and earth made her offer to teach Spock how to swim. Of course, it is only logical to offer one’s services in an area where one is adept; Nyota is a certified xeno-lifeguard. She has every expectation that she is skilled enough to teach Spock not only how to swim but to save others. 

No, that’s not what’s tying her stomach in knots.

_You’re an idiot, girl_ , she thinks as she glances around the empty indoor pool once more and crosses the humidity moistened tile to sit on the bleachers. The chronometer on the wall reads exactly 22:00 hours; Spock is never late.

_You pushed him into this_ , her traitorous brain supplies, and belatedly she realizes it sounds like her brother. _Spock is probably at home, trying to figure out_ \- Nyota jerks in the direction of footfalls and rises to her feet as the door to the pool proper opens. It’s Spock, and he looks as enthusiastic as… 

As a Vulcan being forced to swim in water.

He’s dressed in black, and Nyota sighs inwardly at the dashing way he wears the color unrelieved. Nyota wants to press her hand against his cheek and feel the bones beneath her palm; she wants to lean up to kiss that little furrow he has between his brows. Smooth away the built up frustration and stress. 

His cotton hoodie is fitted to his slender frame and zipped all the way to the hollow of his throat; wide legged sweat pants and neoprene pool shoes complete the severe looking ensemble. Nyota can’t help but smile; Spock, always prepared. 

Her smile falls off when she realizes, belatedly, that Spock is speaking. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I apologized for being late; I attempted to call your communicator but you failed to respond,” he says as he comes to stand beside her. He looks green, greener than normal but when Nyota attempts to catch his eyes he looks slightly embarrassed. 

He’s afraid of the water.

Her nerves evaporate as she remembers why she’s truly there. “I left my communicator in my bag in the locker room. I didn’t want to chance the humidity; it’s still in the experimental phase and I haven’t made it waterproof yet.”

“That is wise.” 

“Besides, it’s fine; we’re in no hurry. Are you ready?”

Spock’s expression is inscrutable on a good day, but now he truly looks made of stone, and just as inclined to get into the water. Nyota follows his gaze to the deep end of the pool. 

“We’re not going to start there,” she reassures him. 

“I have faith in your abilities,” he says. “I was merely contemplating a memory.”

“Good or bad?” Nyota asks. 

“My first year of Starfleet I was… startled by a fellow cadet and tripped into the pool.”

“Oh, no; is that where your aversion started?”

“No. Most Vulcans find swimming distasteful because water is too precious a resource for recreational activities.”

Nyota hears what’s not being said. No, his aversion didn’t start there but it certainly was exacerbated. Trauma induced hydrophobia is something that can get you disqualified from active service, even without the pressure to serve some never recover from their aversion. “Was it on purpose?”

“Quite. The cadet went on to leave Starfleet before graduation.”

Nyota struggles not to grin; she doesn’t know if there is a Vulcan cultural taboo against schadenfreude. “Pity,” she says, and makes sure her tone states otherwise.

Spock does not look pleased. “Indeed.”

“I must admit, I never knew you had such exciting stories from your cadet years,” she says as she puts her hands on her hips. 

“I have been told I am a humanoid of many layers.”

“And you’re also stalling.”

Spock comes as close to sputtering as one can get without moving a muscle. “To delay the achievement of necessary knowledge is illogical,” he says, as if the words keep him, too, from being thus. 

“Your face is illogical,” Nyota retorts immediately. As Spock’s eyebrow rises again so does her mortification. “I said that aloud, didn’t I?” she asks as she closes her eyes in the face of blinding embarrassment. 

“Indeed.” When she opens her eyes Spock doesn’t seem to be offended nor scandalized; quite the opposite. Nyota can detect a hint of humor in his expression and the roiling of her stomach loosens just a little. 

“We can begin whenever you’re ready,” Nyota says after the awkwardness in the room fades. She’s watching Spock stare at the deep end of the pool again. “And we won’t start there,” she promises again. 

Spock glances at the loose fitting white dress Nyota is wearing and frowns. “Your garment is voluminous; are you positive you will have adequate range of motion necessary for both our safety?” 

Nyota’s expression is briefly confused before she glances down and laughs. “Oh, this is just my cover up; like you I had no desire to walk from my room in just a bathing suit.” She toes out of her wedge sandals and immediately loses three inches in height before she tugs the cotton cover-up over her head and turns to fold it and place it on the bleachers. 

Spock is glad she’s facing away from him because he isn’t quite sure how long he loses control of his body; Nyota’s bathing suit is not standard Starfleet regulation swimwear. It is comprised of white material with two rings of gold on each of her hips and a single one at her back. The exceedingly lovely contrast between her brown skin and the white fabric makes him long to step closer and press his face against her skin, which looks softer than imagined in his meditations.

Not that she intrudes upon his meditations often. That would be… illogical.

He watches as muscle moves under her skin when she shifts her weight and Spock clasps his hands behind his back so he does not give into temptation to wrap them around her slender waist and pull her to him. So he does not do what he has yearned to do for quite some time and fill his hands with her prodigious backside. How can one be both smaller and shapelier than imagined?

“Spock, are you alright? You look flushed.”

Nyota is looking at him with concern and friendship in her eyes and all Spock can do to stay upright is to resolutely _not_ look down at her chest. 

He will not.

…It is a very near thing.

“I am adequate,” he says, with what little energy he has that is not being diverted to bio-controls. He refuses to succumb to an erection and embarrass himself. He is Vulcan and will not be betrayed by his own biology. Eventually his body agrees, albeit with extreme reluctance. 

“Alright, are you going to wear that in the pool?” Nyota teases. She knows she shouldn’t joke but he’s acting strangely and suddenly it hits her; he may be trying to figure out a way to tell her he doesn’t think her suit is appropriate. _Damn you, Gaila_ , she thinks. Nyota knew she should’ve stuck with the plain red, standard-issue one piece.

“I, too, am in possession of regulation swim gear,” Spock says, and he quickly removes his shoes and strips off his hoodie and pants.

Nyota knows that she can slip and hit her head on the pool tile and die a happy woman. “You’ve opted for the Starfleet speedo, I see,” she almost wheezes. The black brief snugly presses against areas that many students and faculty alike have imagined and lusted over. His torso is perfectly proportioned and more defined than his size suggests, tapering into a narrow waist and hips. 

The legendary charcoal grey instructor’s uniform did nothing to prepare Nyota for the glimpse of what appears to be a distressingly impressive bulge and powerful thighs. 

Somewhere, some deity wants Nyota to die a painful, prolonged, and embarrassing death.

“The trunks were illogical in their excess of material. I considered I have much to compensate for with my Vulcan physiology that it would only be prudent to have as many advantages afforded to aid me.”

Nyota is helpless in the face of such rationality. “I understand,” she says. “Do you want a swim cap? I have another,” she says as she turns away. She has to, or she’ll reach out and touch something she shouldn’t, or throw herself at him in an embarrassing fashion. Repeatedly, more than likely while whining incoherently. 

She can hear the scuttlebutt now; _conduct unbecoming_.

“Negative.”

“Suit yourself,” Nyota murmurs as she uses the action of retrieving her cap and goggles to forcibly calm herself. With practiced ease she tucks her hair into it and grabs two sets of goggles. “Eyewear?”

“Negative; chlorine does not affect my inner eyelid,” he says.

“Great, well I need goggles because chlorine dries my eyes out and I hate water in my nose.” Nyota puts on her goggles and smiles. “Ready?” she asks, her voice suddenly adenoidal. 

Spock’s mouth twitches. “Although I am not, I put myself in your capable hands.”

“Good. Let’s get in the water. We’re going to start at the shallow end first.” Nyota walks to the other end of the pool and walks down the steps. “It’s a little chilly; I considered adjusting the temperature to something more palatable but the water won’t always be as warm as you’d like it. Or as dry,” she says with a small smile on her face. She ducks under the water and only then does Spock allow himself to sigh. What would his mother say?

_Just get it over with_.

Indeed.

Spock walks into the pool and winces at how cold the water is; Nyota used no hyperbole in her description. 

“Dunk your head under water briefly; it’ll help the water not feel so cold.” 

Spock turns to see Nyota closer than he realized. “Why would immersing my head cause a change in perception of temperature?” 

Nyota shrugs. “I don’t know the scientific name for the phenomena but it works. Try it.” 

Spock closes his inner eyelid and ducks under the water. He feels the rush of his body adapting and adjusting quicker than when he was submerged merely to his waist. Curious. He stares at Nyota’s for a moment before he comes back up and shakes his head of excess water. “You were correct,” he admits. 

Nyota laughs. “You look like an unhappy cat,” she says. 

“Vulcans are descended from a felinoid species,” Spock says. “It is logical that we retain a few characteristics.”

“Don’t worry, Spock; I think you look adorable.” Nyota’s eyes widen. “I mean, its fine,” she says quickly. 

Spock feels a warmth that overcomes the chill from the water. Adorable isn’t exactly what he wants to come to mind when Nyota thinks of him, but it is in the vein of fondness, and that can change to something more promising in the future. 

“Let’s get started, before I drown of embarrassment,” Nyota says. “We’re going to get you acclimated by working on strokes and floating on your back in the shallow end. When you’re more comfortable we’ll move into deeper water and practice treading and experience deeper submersion. I find if you experience sensations in a less stressful environment it helps to maintain calm when necessary. If I’m going too fast or if you need to take a break let me know.”

“Vulcan endurance far exceeds Human levels,” Spock says.

Nyota clenches her jaw. “While that may be the case, I wasn’t referring to physical endurance, Spock. I understand your complicated relationship with water and I don’t want to magnify the problem. I want to help you overcome it in the healthiest way possible. That may mean moving slower than you would expect.”

“I apologize, Nyota; I have been short with you when you have offered your help and friendship.” 

“I am not angry. Let’s get started and you’ll feel less self-conscious.”

Spock wants to pick apart that statement and stall for more time, but Nyota is looking at him with a wide smile and suddenly he feels that he can do this. No more stalling. 

Over the next hour and a half they practice the breast stroke, the back stroke and floating on his back. It is akin to torture; Nyota is uncomfortably close as she holds his form in the water and is skin to skin while she adjusts his limbs. Surprisingly Spock is able to pick up very little from her; he’s curious as to her psi rating and debates looking at her record when he returns home. Eventually his discomfort at her proximity fades as he attempts to concentrate on the tasks at hand. Floating is elusive. Spock’s frustration grows even after measurable development in other areas. 

“You’re proceeding in a satisfactory manner,” Nyota says. “Your self-imposed time table serves no purpose but to frustrate you and diminish what progress you’ve made.”

“However illogical my impatience may be your tutelage has made me realize I should have done this before,” he admits while staring up at the pool ceiling. Spock attempts to relax his body as he drifts next to Nyota, who is upright.

“You must remember to think light thoughts,” she says, close to his ear. 

“That is illogical,” he says as he tries not to overcompensate for his body’s seeming erratic tendency to slip beneath the water. 

“Why?”

“Because thoughts are not able to be weighed,” he says.

Nyota shrugs and the small movement causes water to lap against Spock’s shoulder and neck. “I don’t know if that will always be the case,” she says. “They aren’t able to be weighed with current technology.”

Spock considers her words and frowns. “While thoughts are electrochemical in nature, weight isn’t a necessarily inherent measurement of its existence.”

“Interesting.”

“Indeed. There are several scientists who have postulated –”

“No, Spock; when you stopped concentrating on what your body was doing you were able to maintain a float longer than you have before. I’ve even drifted us over into the deeper end and-”

Spock flails and sinks immediately; his inner eyelid closes instinctively and his vision clears beneath the water. Nyota reaches for him but Spock see’s cadet Skylar Briggs screaming under water as Spock clamps down on the cadet’s arm. The memory is shockingly potent; Spock feels the bone break in his hands but he still couldn’t let go. 

He won’t hurt Nyota, even if it costs him his life.

Spock sinks like a stone, quickly and without a sound as he tries to conserve his oxygen; there was no warning before the water began to rise so he does not have much air in his lungs. He feels his body quietly request oxygen and then demands it. His body is shuttling what little it has to work with to his brain as he distantly feels his feet reach the bottom of the pool. 

The pressure against his head seems to multiply and his lungs give warning that he will not be able to deny the need to breathe much longer. 

_I have loved you, Nyota, and failed to tell you._

His vision is flickering and his chest is demanding to expand and-

Dimly Spock feels arms around his chest and suddenly he’s rising through the water, gratefully faster than previously calculated. His head breaks through the surface and his body sucks in oxygen most expediently. The side of the pool looms and he allows himself to grab it and hold firmly while he struggles to get his respiration under control. 

“What in the hell is wrong with you?”

The anger in Nyota’s voice breaks through the shaky fog of residual fear as he blinks the water out of his eyes as it streams down his face. “Pardon?” he asks. 

“I reached for you; I know you saw me. Why didn’t you reach back? Are you trying to drown?” Her voice rises almost an octave in her fury. “I could’ve kept you from going all the way to the bottom!”

Spock opens his mouth to retort but no words come; illogically it is only then he realizes that it had to be Nyota that pulled him from the depths; the pool house is still empty save them. “I… I did not think you could without incurring grave injury,” he says.

Nyota doesn’t know what to say. She feels as if she could either cry or hit Spock. Neither would be productive and both would probably confuse him. “We’re done for the night,” she bites out, but doesn’t move until Spock eases himself along the side of the pool to the shallow end. She follows him and in silence they dry off, allowing her fear to fall away and her anger to surge forward. 

She watches as Spock glances at her repeatedly as they don their clothing and gather their things. “You have forgotten your head gear,” he says, and Nyota rips it off, only irritation keeps her from wincing at the caught strands. 

“Your behavior advises me that I have offended you. I am sorry.”

Nyota looks at Spock and cocks her head. “What are you sorry for?” she asks. Nyota has seen him do this before; apologize for some real or imagined slight to a higher ranking officer with empty words and no real contrition. 

“For offending you,” he says, and Nyota huffs at the non-apology.

“You are definitely the son of a diplomat,” she says as she grabs her bag. “You’re apologizing and you don’t know why I’m angry; isn’t that illogical?” she spits as she begins to pass him.

“Nyota, please,” he says, and it’s his tone that makes her stop short. When she turns Spock looks like he’s in pain. “I didn’t want to hurt you and I was afraid.”

She releases her anger, reluctantly, and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Everyone is afraid of drowning, Spock. What I don’t understand is why you wouldn’t let me help you. Why you would resign yourself to losing your life at the bottom of one of Starfleet Academy’s pools. A death that would be beyond senseless.”

“Do you remember when I recounted my first experience with being taught to swim?” Spock isn’t quite looking at her because the despair of those days wells in his chest. 

“I do.”

“I feel great shame when I think upon that episode; there were circumstances beyond my control but as a Vulcan amongst species of delicate structure, I must always remember my strength. Even when harmed by accident, _especially_ when harmed by accident we are most at fault because the injury was caused by negligence. I inadvertently grabbed that cadet responsible for tripping me as I began my descent and we both ended up in the water. Due to my… enthusiastic emotional response my superior strength caused an overreaction. He suffered a compound fracture in his dominant arm and he could not pass the physical requirements utilizing his other arm; eventually leaving the academy.

“I value you, Nyota. I value the way you have decided to live your life and the goals you strive for. I will do no harm to you or your body while I am able.”

“At the cost of your own life?” she asks, quietly. 

“A small price to pay.”

“How can you say something like that,” she asks, and wipes tears from her face angrily. “You are valued, too. I’m angry because you didn’t trust me.”

“If I didn’t trust you, Nyota, I wouldn’t have stepped foot in this building,” he retorts.

“You didn’t trust me to be able to save you,” she says.

Spock wants to refute that but finds he cannot, truthfully. “I am stronger and heavier than you,” he says instead. “Even accounting for the buoyancy achieved in water I can keep you from reaching the surface.”

“And yet you didn’t.” Nyota takes a deep breath. “You do understand the Human biological reaction to adrenaline, correct?”

“I do,” he says. 

“I could’ve lifted a Gorn from the bottom of the pool if necessary but above all I am highly trained and I do not have to rely on biological responses. When I said you didn’t trust me I should have said you didn’t trust in my training.”

Spock reflects on her words and finds no fault to exploit, no point he can take out of context without being disingenuous. He never wishes to be less than truthful with her. “I am sorry; I did not intend to doubt your training and by extension, you.”

Nyota’s expression softens into exasperation as she shakes her head and looks away. “I’m free in two days,” she says. “We could pick up where we left off.”

“Thank you; that would be most agreeable,” Spock says, and the knot in his chest loosens as her smile blooms brightly. “Perhaps, Nyota, you would be agreeable to join me for a later dinner? I find myself suddenly in need of caloric intake.”

“Almost drowning will do that to you,” Nyota says, dryly. 

He wants to say that since he did not inhale any water that technically he hadn’t begun drowning but Nyota is happy and willing to spend more time in his company. Spock’s smile is small, but visible. “Affirmative,” he says, and offers his arm.


End file.
